Bus To Nowhere
by Jenn10
Summary: Thoughts after Chosen. Format is screwy, sorry.


Disclaimer: Not mine. They all belong to that wonderful, sadistic genius, Joss Whedon.   
  
Brilliant man, fabulous show.   
  
Bus To Nowhere  
  
It's over. It's really truly over. There is still work to be done, people to save. But   
  
she knows that the most important battle of her life, of the world... is over. And she won.   
  
They stand there, looking into the crater that was once their home. Is still their home,   
  
really. You can't walk away from a place like that without it leaving a mark on you.   
  
Sunnydale will always be with them. And so will the ones they've lost. Forever.  
  
  
  
Later, they will think idly of their belongings. Keepsakes that used to mean so   
  
much. Tokens of lost lives and loves and times they will never return to. She will think of   
  
a cross necklace on her dresser, and of the many reminders of her mother, who lived and   
  
died in a house now far below them. She will think of the many other battles she has   
  
fought, the milestones she has overcome. The room she's lived in for seven years, and the   
  
many changes it saw. Every smile, every tear, every drop of blood spilt. None of it really   
  
matters now, but she will think on each moment just the same. She can do that now. She   
  
can spend a whole week thinking about her life, while the others sleep.   
  
The memories won't fade just yet. They will someday, maybe years from now. It   
  
makes her smile a little to think in terms of years. She's never really trusted to do that   
  
before. It feels strange to have a future, strange to feel safe. The loss is there, a sharp   
  
pang in her heart for what's gone, but she can deal with that. She can deal because it feels   
  
right, even as she slips away silently to cry for him. That look on his face, that peace.   
  
That look of knowing all that he was about to do. It was more than worth the pain of   
  
losing him. She can believe that because she knows that's what he felt. She can even deal   
  
with his denial of her final confession. He didn't believe she truly loved him, but she did.   
  
She does. And he heard the words. Whether he trusted them or not, he heard them   
  
before...  
  
They're not sure what to do next. She supposes they ought to decide soon. Some   
  
are injured; all are tired, even with the thrill of their triumph rushing through their veins.   
  
They don't even have any food or water. She wonders briefly about money, then pushes   
  
the thought away. Not important. Not after what they have just survived. Well, some of   
  
them anyway. She thinks they will go to Los Angeles, to see him. He'll be waiting, she   
  
knows, worried out of his mind for her whether he admits it or not. It's comforting to   
  
know that he still cares. Hell, he still loves her, and probably always will. They can't be   
  
together now, anymore than they could then, but it doesn't matter. She knows he'll be   
  
there. And someday, maybe she won't see another's face, bright and pained and so   
  
brave... She isn't in a hurry. Right now, she can't imagine hurrying anything ever again.   
  
They load up in the bus again, trading banter as they have always done. She   
  
shares a smile with her best friends, then settles down next to her tired Watcher, who is   
  
rationally discussing what they need to do right away: food, shelter, rest. She leans her   
  
head on his shoulder, content to let him direct her small band of survivors somewhere   
  
quiet, where hopefully there will be much sleep. And chocolate. And possibly really   
  
sappy old movies. And quiet corners to cry in. He wraps his arm around her, disregarding   
  
his British reserve to drop a paternal kiss to the top of her head. And she feels safe. Safe   
  
and very tired. Her sister is suddenly on her other side, cuddling up to her the way they   
  
used to when they were younger, or scared, or just out of the final battle and on their way   
  
to who-knows-where in a bus that was the only remaining vestige of their home town.   
  
Scattered conversations rose and fell, and gradually, most of the survivors rested, save   
  
those sitting in the front taking turns with the driving. But she was the first to sleep, safe   
  
between those who arguably loved her best. The town was a crater. The world? Still   
  
needing protecting. Her ex-but-never-really-ex love was waiting for her, and her much   
  
more recent love was waiting to be mourned. There was much to be done, but for now,   
  
there is just the gentle jostling of the bus, the murmur of voices, and the slight California   
  
breeze. On a bus driving nowhere, coming from Hell itself with the world's saviors   
  
inside, the original of many strong, powerful girls finally slept. 


End file.
